Long Shot Grissom's POV
by KimCSI
Summary: Companion piece to 'Long Shot'. Grissom's POV. My take on what may have been going on after the screen faded to black in Season 4's Bloodlines.


**Long Shot – Grissom's POV**

Summary: Grissom's POV about his relationship with Sara. Written to accompany 'Long Shot'

Disclaimer: 'Long Shot' remains property of Kelly Clarkson. CSI and the characters from CSI remain property of CBS, Alliance Atlantis, Jerry Bruckheimer and Anthony Zuiker. I merely borrowed them. Please don't shoot me 

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I took it as a warning

I should have seen it coming

So now I'll take a chance on

This thing we may have started

Long Shot by Kelly Clarkson

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The amber liquid burns slightly as it slides down my throat. Instantly I curse myself. This is exactly what brought this situation on. Jim told me he was worried about her, but did I do anything? No. There is an angry crash as I hurl the glass against the wall. She invokes this feeling, and only she. I need to go to her. Not because I want to. Because I have to. Both? She's at P.D. Thank God for the privileges we get, or this could be a lot worse. A whole lot worse.

As I drive, my knuckles are white from gripping the wheel too hard. I'm angry. At her. At me. She shouldn't have been driving. Why was she driving? Hell, why was she drunk?! I know things haven't been ideal lately, but does she really care so little about her life? About mine? Not that they're one and the same, they're not. We're not. Why does this bother me so much? Because I... I can't pinpoint the exact moment in time my heart suddenly became her property.

At P.D., the officer fills me in on the details. Where she was. Her blood alcohol level. After that I stop listening. She wasn't going home. She wasn't going to the lab. She was two blocks over from my townhouse. Now, it starts to make sense. I see her in the waiting room. Looking dejected. And... sad. Interesting what you can see when the other person isn't aware of being watched. I slip in the door and sit down beside her. Neither of us says a word. Somehow my hand has slipped into hers and I'm telling her I'm taking her home.

There is silence. A thick, tense silence shrouding us. It's suffocating. It envelopes us all the way to her apartment. She doesn't protest against me coming inside. This isn't the Sara Sidle I know and love. Wait, what? I try and compose myself as I close her apartment door, trying to figure out the best way to approach this.

I sit on the sofa across from her, observing. She's curled up on the other couch. She'd hate me for thinking it, but she looks vulnerable. For the first time, Sara Sidle looks vulnerable. My heart breaks for her. Why did I not pay more attention to her? I heard the rumours about... _him_. There's more to it than that. Why else would she be driving towards my townhouse? Coincidentally, the route I take to get home.

"What's wrong Sara?"

Silence. I go into her kitchen and make coffee. She needs something to clear her head. Maybe then I'll get some answers. Within minutes I'm back, this time on the chair nearest her. I place our mugs on the coffee table. I spy the empty bottle of vodka on the rug beneath.

"Why did you feel the need to drink? To drive? Where were you going?"

I see her scowl at me. She knows that I know where she was picked up. I should know better than to insult her intelligence. I want answers. I need answers. I know things have been strained between us. It's mostly my fault. Does she have so little faith in me? Think that I don't care? Oh Sara if you only knew.

"Do you have so little regard for your own life that you'd risk it by driving under the influence?"

Silence. I reach for her hand. She flinches. That stung. More than the fact that I knew she was dating another man.

"I want you to take some time out, deal with this. If you won't talk to me, talk to a PEAP counsellor, I'll book you some sessions." The scowl was back on her face. "You can return to work when they're completed. It's your choice Sara."

Moments pass in silence before she attempts to stifle a yawn.

"I should go. You know where I am if you want to talk." I cringe as I say that, not wanting to remind her of what happened tonight. "If I haven't heard from you by Friday I'm scheduling those sessions. And two weeks leave."

She shows me out, refusing to look me in the eye. The door closes, the lock turns, the bolt clicks across. I'm rooted to the spot as I hear her slide down the door, and I hear a muffled "It's all your fault."

My heart breaks again as I hear her crying. If there's one sound I never want to hear again, it's the sound of Sara crying. For a moment I contemplate begging her to be let back in, but I know she'll only resent me for it. So I turn and I leave.

Two days later, after shift, I went home and dialled Sara's number. Not unsurprisingly it rolled over to the answering machine. I left her a message. "Sara, I hope you're feeling better. I've authorized two weeks leave for you. And scheduled some sessions with the PEAP counsellor. They're mandatory. Your first one is Monday at 11am with Dr. Graham. I'll email you the details. I... I want you to know you can talk to me, if you want. Not as your boss, but as your friend. Sara, I –

And the machine cut out. Great. Truth be told, I didn't quite know what I was going to say. She's always had that affect on me. Why do I get the feeling Sara's not the only one who needs to talk to someone?

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Sara was back tonight. I was in meetings so I didn't get to see her before shift started. In fact, I haven't seen her at all. That is until I leave my office to collect a package from reception. And there she is. Smiling, looking like her old, beautiful self. It's infectious and I smile as I say "Good morning, Sara." Her smile gets bigger. Before making a fool of myself, I carry on to my destination. She seems better. Happier. And I'd be lying if I said making her smile didn't make my day. There's hope for the two of us yet.

THE END.


End file.
